


Trying Something New

by beekeepercain



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alone At Home, Gen, MTF Sam, New Clothes, Slice of Life, Trans Sam, nice things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-31
Updated: 2017-03-31
Packaged: 2018-10-13 07:22:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10509039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beekeepercain/pseuds/beekeepercain
Summary: With John and Dean off hunting, Sam's left alone in the motel room once again - a chance that shouldn't be passed up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Yet more Trans Day of Visibility prompts. I really like this one. Ugh, I'm a sucker for happy things. Bury me with them.

 

 

* * *

 

It’s too gloomy to go outside. Rain’s coming down in curtains: it washes across the parking lot and the street in a wave-like formation, then tones back down to a steady drizzle. Sam’s sitting on the table; Dean and Dad are gone, so there’s no one to tell her otherwise.

Her.

Yeah.

The word is starting to feel more and more right with every time she tries it on.

So, the library’s off limits today - but maybe there’s something else to be done. Sam’s eyes catch the sight of the shopping mall next door. It’s just a quick sprint away. She’s got the legs to make it quick, the only _good_  thing to come out of puberty so far. The downsides are trickier. Maybe she won’t get wet, but what about when she gets there? How can she muster up the courage to go to the stores she _wants_  to see, and worse yet, if she finds something discount - can she buy it? Does she have what it takes to walk up to the cashier with whatever she’s found and actually, really buy it?

She shivers, casting a look back towards the empty box of hot chocolate on the table. A grimace later, she’s off the table: she’s got to go buy groceries anyway. Might as well see about the rest once she’s there.

The rain barely catches her on the way across the street. She picks up the groceries first, stuffing a pack of cereals, some oatmeal and more hot chocolate inside her bag, and then, on the way back, she takes the longer route through the clothes stores. A thick swallow passes through her throat as she stops before one. It’s now or never, right?

She’s never been one to back off.

An employee gives her a smile in greeting: they nod at each other, with Sam’s stomach buzzing and filling with nervous energy. She can feel her body tensing and then relaxing once she’s out of view, behind the racks of clothes on display. She runs her hands over the fabrics, breathes in a shaky breath full of the scent of the store, and lets herself wander around for a while as if she’s just looking around and not heading for the discount section at all - like she isn’t intending to buy. Especially not for her.

“Can I help you?” a voice jumps him from behind.

Another employee, a woman in her thirties, stands behind her. Of course - she’s a teenage boy in a women’s clothes store. Probably looking to dress up her girlfriend.

A good idea, when Sam thinks about it for a moment. She gives the employee a nervous smile and nods.

“Hey,” she greets her, “I’m - looking for some clothes for my cousin. She’s turning 17 and she’s, well, around my size, a bit thicker I guess? I don’t know if I should, I don’t know, try something on myself or if that’s not a good way to measure whether they’ll fit her, too. I feel kinda ridiculous, to be honest.”

She’s been trained in lying since she was born. The employee smiles sympathetically and nods at her.

“Well, your cousin might have wider hips than you do, especially if she’s on the heavier side.”

“It’s not necessarily that she’s heavy, I think - I don’t know - she’s borrowed my jeans before, and those fit her, right?”

“That’s a good indicator. If she’s borrowed your clothes before and they fit, then you’re approximately the same size, and - if the clothes don’t fit, just keep the receipt and she can come exchange them for a better size.”

Sam nods, her smile more relieved now.  
“Alright, so, if I find a pair of jeans or something, I can - I can go try them on, right? Or is that weird?”

“Not at all! I’ll be right here if you need help choosing something for her.”

“Thanks,” Sam tells her, and she nods at her again before moving a little further to give her space.

Suddenly feeling like she’s bursting with excitement, Sam digs into the discount clothes. She’s only got some sixty bucks saved up, but it turns out to be enough for a nice grey shirt with a wide collar and loose sleeves, and a pair of more form-fitting soft jeans. Throwing Dean’s old red flannel over that... she should look just fine. No, better than fine - she should look _good._  As if it’s the first time she’s ever had that chance, she makes her way into the dressing room.

She can’t say she’s not nervous when she picks up the first grey shirt and tries it on. It’s a little too small, hugging her bony, toned structure too closely for comfort, so she picks up another one, just a single size up, and finds it falling over her form perfectly. It’s just baggy enough to hide her masculine shape, just long enough to cover up her toned arms and cascade over her narrow hips in a manner that almost seems to make them grow wider, and... God. It’s good. It’s really, really good. She leaves it on to try on the jeans. Again, the first pair is a little too tight - this time from the crotch area, which doesn’t surprise her at all but makes her stomach twist painfully regardless - but the next one, while a little loose around her waist, doesn’t make her feel bad about herself at all. Just to try it, she pulls off the belt from her old jeans and wraps it around the new ones to make sure they don’t crunch up or turn baggy around the hips once tied down, and they don’t: the overall looks so good she has to crouch on the floor in front of the mirror and just breathe into her hands for a little while to not scream. There’s a very strange sensation inside her, like an expanding balloon inside her belly that pushes her heart up into her throat and makes it pump hard and fast out of sheer joy. There’s no reason for it, but she just feels _so good_  and so _right_  in these clothes that not buying them isn’t a damn option anymore.

Quietly, she changes back into her old clothes, returns the ill-fitting ones to the discount section and brings the rest up to the cashier. She’s the same woman who helped her before, and maybe she notices the excited blush on Sam’s face or maybe she doesn’t, but Sam feels like she’s now somehow a part of a conspiracy with her - she’s been there, helping her pick out her first _real_  clothes. It’s then that she notices the eyeliner pencils in a cup on the counter, 8 bucks each. Swallowing, she picks up one and adds it on the clothes.

“These run out quickly, right?” she asks nervously, and the cashier smiles at her and runs it up.

“She’ll love it, I’m sure,” she tells her as she bags the clothes and the pencil up before handing them to her.

Sam nearly flies out of the store. Her feet take her through the mall like she’s gliding, and the rain doesn’t even begin to bother her when she crosses the street and the parking lot again. She makes a small hop through the doorway and returns to the motel room’s silent privacy, and she’s so damn happy, there’s nothing she’s ever felt before that quite compares to it - quickly, she sheds her old, now slightly moist, clothes off of her body and dresses up in the new ones. Like she planned, she picks up Dean’s red flannel and throws it over her shoulders, unbuttoned, leaving the loose grey shirt visible: she’s trembling when she microwaves a mug of milk to mix into hot chocolate, holding back from looking at herself in the mirror until it’s done. Then, with her mug in hand, she walks not to the mirror, but to the table: she hops up on it again and scoots up until her legs are dangling down from the edge, but the rest of her is nearly smushed up against the window. With the scenery outside so bleak and dark, it’s easy to see her own image reflecting from the window in the light of the motel room’s warm yellow glow, and she watches both her own self and the scenery behind mixing together as she carefully lines up her eyes with the pencil, feeling like for _once_  she’s a part of this world - like for once, she’s real, and she belongs somewhere.

Maybe it’s not on top of this particular motel room table. Maybe it’s not in this motel, or this town, but she’s sure she has a place in this world. And a few years from now? With the grades she’s getting, the work she’s putting in? Who knows, maybe one day she can start a new life at Stanford. Nobody needs to know.


End file.
